


Power Trip

by Sin_with_a_Grin



Series: Sin, Smut and Snuggles [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Smut, Stancest - Freeform, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 05:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10564335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sin_with_a_Grin/pseuds/Sin_with_a_Grin
Summary: Ford's not been home all the long, and old habits - not to mention fears - die hard. For everyone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sin’s note: This story contains -watersports-. If you’re not into that, that’s OK! Not much else happens during that section. I’ve made that part italicized. When you get to the italic block of text, if you don’t wanna read it, don’t. Other than that, enjoy some sin!

One of his favorite things about his lab is how quiet it is. When he built the house 43 years ago, it had been water tight, not a creak or strange noise in it. That was still true of the basement; not so much about the house upstairs. He couldn’t stand the noise of the wind howling in through the windows. He lamented the obnoxious, horror-movie-quality screeches on the door hinges and the squeaking on the stairs. _He_ would never have allowed the house to decay like this. All of those things would be replaced, shining, and when _he’d_ been in the house alone, he’d always made sure to take different paths up the stairs to avoid the wood warping under his booted feet.

Stanley had many sins to atone for, and when he’d come through the portal to find the house in disarray, he’d made a list of grievances to discuss with his brother upon his ejection. But now…   
  
They’d come to a sort of truce lately. Stanley’s summer with the children would continue as planned and he … he would take the time isolated in the basement for the sake of the children, who he’d quickly become quite fond of, to ensure their safety and because he felt that it … no. _Stanley_ felt that it was important their summer remained untarnished.

They both decided that the children should stay away from him, for different reasons. Ford because he didn’t want to be distracted; Stan because he wanted the children to be safe from ‘whatever dangerous nonsense you get up to down there.’

The quiet of his lab certainly came in handy at night. He’d had enough rude awakenings to last him a life time. Thankfully, in his own home, he certainly felt saf-

_Creak._

He hadn’t heard the door open, hadn’t detected any noise other than the muted sounds from upstairs. His eyes remained closed in the darkness, though he shifted slightly, as if to snuggle further under the covers. Of all the nights he’d chosen to actually sleep, this was the one that he’d been found? When he was least prepared, they were coming for him _now?!_   
  
The cool cylinder of the mag light and the firm grip of the blaster were welcome in his hands as he listened for more noises. A sort of faint shuffling, the characteristic noises of a mouth-breathing species, the absence of cloth on cloth… what kind of creature was this?   
  
The noises came nearer and nearer, and he waited, forcing his body to remain still as he slowly breathed, still feigning sleep. When the attacker was within striking distance, he burst from the futon, a low leg sweep from behind that would knock most creatures on their knees. He circled around behind the life form, swinging the maglight at waist height, where the head or possibly neck should be when the noises from the … human… registered. He halted his arm with an almost painful jerk, stopping a blow that would have given the man a concussion and instead assumed a guard position, blaster resting on the arm holding the flashlight, which he pointed at the kneeling man and turned on.   
  
_“Stanley?!”_ He took a deep breath to keep from shouting. He’d heard the wordless grunt, the pained sound, and felt instantly terrible.   
  
It only took him another second to work from guilt to angry. He crossed the room, flicked on the low wattage desk lamp and tossed the flashlight on the bed. “For Faraday’s sake, Stanley! I could have shot you! You were only saved by my desire to figure out who was coming after me before … what are you doing down here in the middle of the night?” He checked his watch: two-fourty-three. “It’s nearly three in the morning!”  
  
His idiot brother didn’t answer immediately, rubbing a hand on his chest and panting himself. “You… wouldn’t. Understand. Sorry ta… spook yah. I’ll turn on … a light or somethin’ next time.” He hadn’t looked up yet, which was just as well. He could punch his twin’s stupid face _again_ for sneaking up on him like that.   
  
“That’s not good enough! I demand to know. Are you checking up on me? I’ve already said I’d leave the rest of the summer to you, Stanley, but if you intend to start _checking_ on me for some reason -”  
  
“Alright alright! I had … I had a nightmare.” His shoulders slumped, then he shook in a visible shiver. “You were … still gone. I had ta check you were her-”   
  
Stan froze, his gaze glued about waist high. He’d been in the process of looking up at Ford and didn’t seem to be able to look any higher. What on earth?   
  
Ford glanced down, then could have cursed if he wasn’t determined to act as though nothing was wrong. “I realized we were getting old, Stanley; I wasn’t aware that you were so unfamiliar with the sight of yourself erect that you feel the need to stare.” His voice was cold cold cold. “That’s what happens when you rouse a man from sleep.” Cutting and dismissive had come naturally to him once he'd struck out on his own. The better to avoid suffering fools.   
  
The soft noise and the hungry look weren’t what he was expecting. Stan’s eyes flicked up to Ford’s face and the _need_ he saw there made him gasp. Stanley wasn’t a man to beg… usually. But here, in the middle of the night, with his heart pumping as he stood over his twin, did they really need something so… blatant?

A slight smirk crossed his features as he ran his fingers into the thin nearly-white hairs, the barest hint of fondness softening his eyes. He’d looked back at his childhood too-close-ness with Stanley as an erotic mistake, a miscalculation that could only be used against him. It was troubling to think of those things when he was alone and by himself.

But he was home now.   
  
Stan cracked first. “You … you were gone so long.” His heart in his eyes now, not just lust. This, right here, was the reason he’d left Stan to rot for years. This obsessive stare that had lead to jealousy and destruction and disaster. But now?   
  
“Yes. It’s been…” he sighed as his hand gently stroked to cup his twin’s cheek. “It has been too long.”   
  
Hope flared to life in those eyes, an eager look on his face. He’s not sure what happened exactly, though it must have taken only seconds. One moment he was petting Stan’s face and the next his boxer briefs were down around the cusp of his buttocks, both hands in Stan’s hair as wet heat slid along the underside of his cock. His twin’s _mouth_ . What an obscene act, after years of chastity and barely having time to take care of his needs himself; to have someone’s mouth on his skin. He couldn’t breathe, could barely think, and when he felt calloused hands slowly stroke up the backs of his thighs, he thought he’d blacked out.   
  
“No! No, don’t… keep your hands to yourself, Stanley. Be-” he panted softly, caught up in the moment as his hands tightened, “Behind your back.”   
  
The distracting hands slipped away instantly, leaving him with only one thing to focus on. Stan’s tongue, lips and occasionally his teeth moved along the underside, the last causing ecstatic little hisses of masochistic bliss to slip from his lips. His faded memories were nothing compared to this. He could see the work-worn hands clenching against the stained tanktop, feel the panting breaths through a nose he saw in the mirror every morning, the slow smile of lips that matched his own. Stan was getting smug. Well fine then.   
  
He tilted his grip and his hips, angling the head of his cock and pressing forward insistently, not at all surprised when his twin moaned and relaxed his jaw, letting his tongue loll against the underside, and delicately trace a vein. It took the scientist a moment to keep from thrusting, using the orifice for his pleasure; but he’d already kicked the man tonight then had left him on his knees which had to hurt. Seemed only fair to allow him to do as he pleased.   
  
Stanley barely seemed to notice, tilting his head with a hum and working his mouth along the shaft slowly, his lips closing and sucking from root to tip, then letting his mouth loll open as he worked his way back down to the base. The only time he closed his mouth around Ford’s cock completely, he was nose to pelvis, nuzzling gently at the wiry trail of hair there. He was… teasing! Just shy of what Ford needed to get off.

And he knew it.

“Close… your fucking… lips, Stanley…” He had never been pleased with the way that sex seemed to incapacitate him, taking away his judgement… and the filter he used when talking. “Fucking _Christ_ I missed your mouth.”

The noise that escaped around his cock was absolutely obscene, somewhere between a moan and a sob. Oddly enough, it was the noise that clenched it for him. He bit down on his lip hard, no time to give his twin a warning before he twitched and spent himself against Stan’s tongue. His panting breath through his nose slowed after only a moment; but then, he'd always recovered quickly.

 

 _His grip finally loosened enough for Stan to move his head on his own again. Slightly dazed eyes looked up at him, pleased and relaxed. He tried to step back but his twin mewled in protest and released his own wrists, big warm hands coming to grip Ford’s thighs, holding him still, the swiftly softening cock still in Stan’s mouth. Ford chuckled, and blushed further. “Ah, Stanley, you need to let me go. I have to … uh… go.”_   
  
_He’d expected Stan to pull off and tease him. He’d been prepared for some quip about too much information, or even off-color humor… What he got was a tightened grip on his backside, a guttural noise of encouragement, and Stan’s nose pressed against his stomach in obvious invitation._   
_  
_ _“_ **_Fuck_ ** ,” _he hissed softly, staring down in disbelief as his hands slowly petted through Stan’s hair again. Alright… alright. That was unexpected but … it didn’t matter. He closed his eyes, suddenly feeling shy under the intense watch of the pair looking up at him. No complaints from him, but he hadn’t known Stanley was open to something so … abnormal._

_Actually performing the act was another story. It took him a moment, taking a few deep breaths to relax his tightened muscles enough to void. The tightness in his lower abdomen slowly lessened as he released what the erection had been holding in. Stan didn’t react negatively to the taste of urine, though Ford was unable to tell if any was hitting his brother’s tongue at all. He groaned softly at the release, even more intense following his ejeculation, as Stan’s warm hands stroked gently at his legs._

 

Stanley pulled away then, looking tired and happy, not to mention aroused. However he still hadn’t moved. It was strange; but then he might not be able to move. Shit. “Can … can you get to the mattress?” His throat runs dry, finding himself staring as well now. He offers Stan a hand up, then blinks when it’s batted away, trying not to comment on the painful looking and rather ungraceful scramble onto the futon.   
  
“Augh… fuck…” Stan’s chuckle is dark sounding, though still quiet as he rubs both hands over his face, then leaves them there, laying flat on his back. “What am I doin’?”   
  
This is his chance. He’s not sure if he can manage it when Stan is watching him, kneeling slowly, almost reverently and gently stroking the fly of the simple cotton boxers away from the head of his twin’s cock.   
  
“Heh, Sixer, y’don’t hafta return … the… ffffuck me…” Ford doesn’t bother teasing the poor man on the uncomfortable mattress. His whole head moves slightly with the downward motion of his mouth. One hand gently strokes under the hem of the boxers, teasing a rather ticklish spot he remembers on the hip flexor. The other slips into the open gap, gently rolling the soft hanging orbs, the skin loose and soft with age and body heat. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Stan’s hands coming as if to slip into his hair but they’ve stopped, clenching and unclenching just out of reach.

It takes him a moment, but he’s no longer sure just how his brother … expects to be treated in bed. He wants… no, he needs that direction. He slowly pulls back until only the head is inside his mouth, his tongue circling and laving over the softer skin. He waits, content to just give attention here until he’s guided to do more and he isn’t disappointed. Stan’s hips buck, twist then fall to the bed with a strangled noise before both hands gently weave into his hair, the barest hint of pressure on the back of his head.   
  
When they were younger, he may have let, or even expected Stanley to take the lead. It would seem now that Stan was very much unsure of his welcome, thought that wasn’t surprising. He rewarded the tiny push with a faster pace. After a moment, one hand moved away, presumably to cover the muffled moans. “Six-er… I’m… _please…_ ” He sucked down until his met the base obligingly, swallowing around the head to keep from choking on the bitter substance that tried to follow gravity’s pull down the surface of his tongue.  

Their harsh breathing filled the suddenly claustrophobic space, heavy silence falling. Stanford found he had nothing to say; no explanation for his actions nor anything that would qualify as emotionally intimate enough to mirror their physical connection; what was he going to do?  
  
Stanley’s sudden soft bark of laughter startled him a little, shocking him from his thoughts. “You finally make it home in one piece, get me inta bed and now I’m so old I can’t move or even think about moving to give you yer space again. I’m no where near young enough to go again, and I’m just useless, sittin’ here in your way, at three in the fuckin’ morning.” He groaned through a laugh, his hands covering his face still.   
  
Ford gulped a little, a flicker of a smile ghosting over his lips. “Your ah… back, I presume?” He’d seen Stanley limping and rubbing at it the few times he was out of the basement. Stan’s eyes were almost black in the darkness of the basement as he nodded, Adam's apple bobbing visibly with a gulp. “Roll over.”

A shocked look crossed his twin’s face even as he complied without question, settling onto his stomach and wrapping his arms around Ford's pillow and pressing his face into it with a groan.

Stan’s gasp and jolt as he slipped on top, straddling his brother's hips made Ford smile, that stupid fondness creeping in again as he began to knead the lumbar muscles with all twelve digits. The instant slump back to the bed was gratifying, feeling tightened muscles go lax under his fingers. The knuckles popped softly as he worked, conscious of the way his groin was rubbing against Stan’s backside, of the little hairs standing on end at the nape of his neck. Before he realized what he was doing, he'd leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the hairline, wrenching another sound from the body under him. Their closeness was so tempting, the warmth between them a sort of seduction of its own when his hands roamed to Stan's sides and began working along his flanks and rib cage.

“Sixer,” Stan began, his voice hoarse and raw now.

“Mmm?” he replied, nipping gently at a tendon. What was happening? Why did his logical mind suddenly stop working when they got close?

“You… you don't gotta do that, ya know.”

His short laugh was more motion than sound, jolting his body against Stan's in interesting ways. “No, no I don't have to.” He left it at that, slowly rocking his hips a little more purposefully down against the rub of fabric, the sensitive connection eliciting shivers in them both.

“You keep doin _that_ and yer answer might cha-”

“Shut up Stanley.” 

He wasn’t sure at what point he stopped working on muscle groups, or when he was shrugged off to the side. He wasn’t aware that his one pillow was big enough for two heads. Hadn’t yet tried to wrap his arms around his brother.   
  
And he hadn’t felt five fingers fit between his own since he was a teen. It startled him that he hadn’t held another human’s hand since the last time he’d lain with Stanley. He’d remember why that was in the morning. For tonight, he was content to enjoy the mutual comfort.


End file.
